Hardly a second had passed after Cecilia's departure that Juliette scampered down the stairs, with Lillian following more slowly behind her.

"Who was that?" the little girl asked. "Your beloved?" She stretched the word out, letting the word linger on her tongue like a piece of hard candy.

"My fiancée, actually," Charles admitted as James joined them. "Cecilia Monroe."

Lillian's brows furrowed at the name while Juliette's eyes widened. "Hold on!" the little girl said, holding out her arms. "Is she related to Thomas Monroe? The famous earth mage?"

Charles nodded. "That's her father."

Juliette's jaw dropped. "No way! How come you didn't tell us? He's my hero." She leaned on the banister excitedly. "Is his daughter a mage too? Are they this world-class tag team duo together?"

Charles laughed. "No. Cecilia is normal, not a drop of mage blood in her. But that doesn't make her any less special," he added when he caught the look of disappointment on Juliette's face. "She's one of the kindest, most caring women I've ever met. And she came over because her father is being recognized for his charity work and we've all been invited to a dinner to celebrate the news."

Lillian pursed her lips, turned around, and started heading up the stairs. "I'm not going," she said.

"Wait—why?" Charles asked, taking a step up after her.

Lillian paused, turned, and glared at him. "Did you not hear me before? Those cultists sounded like high-borns. And the Monroes and their friends are as high-born as they come."

Charles couldn't believe the accusation in her tone. "So you think my fiancée and her family are consorting with child murderers?"

"I don't know what to think," Lillian admitted. "All I know is that I can't trust anyone."

"She could be right," James said, running his hands over his forearms. "The Monroes know a lot of people in power. If Lillian is right, and the cult is made up of high-borns, it's likely that someone present tonight is member of this cult—or at minimum is aware of its existence."

"Well," Charles said, still looking up at Lillian, "that's a reason for you to come! Maybe you'll recognize someone—"

"What if they recognize me?" Lillian bit back. "I'm the one at risk here, not you. Besides, you saw my memory. You'll have just as good of a chance of recognizing someone as I would." She turned away from him. "I'm not going. That's final." And with that, she vanished up the stairs.

Charles nearly ran up after her, but James grabbed his arm. "Let her go. She's right; it's too dangerous for her."

"Can I still go?" Juliette said, bouncing on her heels with her hands clasped as if in prayer. "I still can't believe you're engaged to Thomas Monroe's daughter!"

Charles couldn't help but let out a chuckle. Although he was annoyed that Lillian wouldn't be coming with them, Juliette's excitement made up for it. "Yes, of course you can still come. Have you been to a banquet before?"

Juliette nodded. "Mister Barnes gets us invited to all sorts of events. I've been to probably eight or nine fancy dinners in the last year. I even have a party dress!"

"Great. And you'll come too, James?"

"Of course. Wouldn't miss it," James said with a grin. "I've been meaning to break out my velvet suit..."

A few hours later, Charles, Juliette, and James were bouncing along in a carriage on the way to the Monroe estate.

Charles had worn his burgundy suit at the request of Cecilia, and James looked quite dashing in a green velvet ensemble. Juliette, meanwhile, looked like someone had tried stuffing a rabbit into a ballgown. It wasn't that her dress was hideous—in fact, it was very much in style with girls her age—but it contrasted so much with her typical ensemble that Charles couldn't help but stifle a laugh when he had first seen her coming down the stairs.

But Juliette's enthusiasm wasn't limited by the frilly dress; her energy was tangible. She pressed her face to the glass window of the carriage they had rented, her eyes growing wider as they approached the Monroe estate

"Wow," she whispered when they finally stopped.

The Monroe estate was an impressive piece of property. The house itself had multiple turrets, balconies, and a large wrap around porch. And despite being in the city, it sat on a large grassy lot. When you were at the estate—walking alongside the colorful front garden and down a delicately-laid stone path—you could pretend you weren't in the city at all. It was a breath of fresh air, a taste of the country, all within walking distance from the busy markets and bustling pubs.

Charles remembered the first time he had seen the estate. For all the recognition he had obtained and for all the money he had earned with his gift, he still felt woefully inadequate whenever he arrived on Cecilia's front doorstep. He loved the house he lived in—the skinny, two-story brick home he had saved up for with James—but it often didn't feel like enough. What he had felt temporary; the Monroe estate was solid, a testament to time.

Cecilia told him it didn't matter how large his home was. She said she was excited to start a life with him somewhere new. It was easy to believe her between loving kisses, but when she wasn't around to reassure him, the feeling of inadequacy returned.

Charles helped Juliette out of the carriage, and together they all walked down the long stone pathway. They reached the front porch just as the sun began to set, but the air was warm, hinting at summer. Charles rapped on the door and it was opened a moment later by a servant. He was about the same age as Charles, with dark hair and grey eyes.

"Good evening, Mister and Mister Abbot," the servant greeted. Charles recognized him as Mister Foote, the Monroe coachman. He typically tended the horses and stables, but appeared to have been pulled to help with the festivities inside. Must be some dinner party, Charles thought to himself.

"Thank you, Mister Foote," James greeted as he stepped into the home.

Charles bit his tongue. He knew James was only trying to be nice, but it irked him that he didn't understand servant etiquette, which was that "thank-you's" were frowned upon. If anyone had heard him, they would have instantly known that he and his brother were unfamiliar with this sort of lifestyle—which, of course, was the case, but Charles had been slowly learning the etiquette with Cecilia, trying his best not embarrass her or her family. Thankfully, the front hall was empty, so no one had witnessed his brother's gaffe.

Next Foote bowed to Juliette. "May I have your name, Miss?"

"Jessamine Taylor," Juliette said by way of introduction. "Cousin to Mister and Mister Abbot."

They had decided it'd be safer for no one to know Juliette's true identity. Plus, Charles had already lied to Cecilia and told him his cousins would be joining them. All that said, Juliette looked so unbearably different that Charles highly doubted that anyone would assume she was the same child prodigy from the arena.

As Foote escorted them down the long hallway, Juliette's eyes were wide, taking in everything around them: the grand staircase leading to the upper floors, the chandeliers dripping with diamonds, and the tall antique vases stuffed with fresh flowers from the garden. Some people said that the Monroe estate had the nicest flowers because of Thomas Monroe's earth magick, but Mister Monroe had once confessed to Charles that it was merely because he hired the best gardeners in the city.

Foote led them past some of the smaller rooms in the front of house—rooms Charles normally dined and courted with the Monroe family—and around the back until he came to the great double doors that led to the ballroom. As he pushed them open, he announced, "Mister Charles Abbot—betrothed to Miss Cecilia Monroe. His brother, Mister James Monroe. And his fair cousin, Miss Jessamine Taylor."

Despite the announcement, they didn't turn too many heads when they entered the ballroom—mostly because there were too many people there to have heard the introductions. By quick estimate, Charles assumed there were at least 100 people present. He could have been walking into a wedding.

The room was loud and happy. People were laughing and drinking, standing in small groups. A string quartet was playing, violin wafting through the air. Servants walked by carrying plates of hors d'oeuvres, weaving in and out of the guests.

Yet despite the chaos, Charles saw Cecilia immediately.

She looked like a flower, dressed in a baby blue evening gown with a long train. Her bright red hair was coifed skillfully atop her head. And despite the fact she was playing hostess, she turned at that precise moment, locking eyes with Charles as if she had sensed his presence. As she did, he felt his heart relax, luxuriating in the way that her presence was enough to put him at ease.

She excused herself from the small group she had been speaking with and approached the three of them.

"James!" she said first, giving him a proper handshake. "You look wonderful in that suit."

"You know I aim to please," James responded with a wink.

"And Charles," she said, turning to greet her fiancé by giving him a light peck on the cheek. However, before pulling away, she whispered, "I'm sorry. This ended up being a lot larger than I anticipated."

"A lot more elaborate than our little dessert tasting," Charles agreed before gesturing downwards. "Cecilia, this is my cousin, Jessamine Taylor."

Cecilia shook Juliette's hand. The little mage seemed a bit overeager in her response, but Cecilia didn't take any offence—in fact, her grin merely grew larger. "Charmed to meet you, Jessamine."

"You too," Juliette said. Her eyes darted back and forth, unable to focus on anything for too long. "There are so many people here!"

"Yes. My father seemed to have gotten a bit carried away with his guest list."

"I don't think I recognize any of them," Charles said, scanning the crowd for a familiar face.

"I'm sure if you look long enough, you'll see some you know. Most of them are associates of my father. A few are families who live in the neighborhood. And sprinkled throughout are some of his old friends from his days in the arena. But I'll take you three around and lead some introductions." She paused suddenly. "Speaking of introductions, I thought you said you had another cousin visiting. Is she here?"

"Ahh, no actually," Charles said, catching James' stare. "So, Lil—Lavinia, her mother is actually quite ill. She's staying in our spare bedroom. My cousin Lavinia decided to stay behind to be with her."

"Oh, poor thing," Cecilia murmured, and Charles could see the distant look that had settled over her green eyes. Both he and Cecilia had lost their mothers, but while Charles had lost his at fourteen, Cecilia had only lost hers two years ago. The wound was still fresh.

"I'll say a prayer for her," Cecilia said finally. "And at the end of the banquet, I'll put together a tray of leftover food. You can bring it home for her."

"Thank you. I think she'd appreciate that," Charles said, and he meant it.

Cecilia smiled at him sadly, and then suddenly straightened up and put on a brighter face. "All right you three. Let me get back to my hosting duties and introduce you to some of the other guests."